The Gay Gatsby
by ElasticElectricity
Summary: A retelling of the Classic "The Great Gatsby" by F. Scott Fitzgerald... exploring the literary critique of Nick's wavering sexuality and his ultimate love of his mysterious neighbor. Loosely following the plot line of the original novel, Nick begins to realize that he cannot live in the closet, especially not when there is someone for him to love. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Nick's Reflection

_(Hello- My name is Eren and this is my first work of Fanfiction! A few disclaimers: I do not own any part of "The Great Gatsby" or any of the characters. That genius can only be credited to F. Scott. Fitzgerald. Content is mixed between the books and movie, and might not be 100% accurate to the original plot line. Also, this is kind of an inside joke between my friends and I- I do not take myself seriously in any way, this is just for a little fun for our "what ifs?" and "if onlys..." But regardless, enjoy! :-) Also, rated M for language, violence, and sexual content in later chapters. I plan on following along the entire story-line of the book. Following chapters will be much longer than this little bit in the beginning!) _

**Part 1- ****Prologue**

Nick Carraway sat gazing out of the fogged over window of his Chicago apartment. His pen was a weight tied to his fingers; the paper a blank shot into the distance. There was a certain level of expectation he sensed he could never fulfill- a certain extravagance to live up to which his writing would never succeed.

"The Great Gatsby" sat staring at him. His literary masterpiece. He had just written the "The Great" above Gatsby- a small token to the man.

James Gatz. Jay Gatsby. The wonderer, the doe eyed man of hope whose secrets were as simple as skeletons in a closet when you pondered it- a man so moved by love he would do anything- even fix his own death- to protect his beloved.

The guilt hung to heavily over Nick Caraway's heart. His longing was a tear in his chest- it was physical- he wanted to double over, to cough up blood the way Gatsby had in the novel- to feel the life being sucked out of him.

To live without this man was not to live at all- this man was the catalyst for life. This man was his best friend. This man believed in the green light.

This man was more than a boat beating against the current, bourn back into the past. He, though he did not know it, was the hope for the future.

The regrets whirled around in Nick's head. If only he had kept his mouth shut. If only he had played the game the way he was supposed to, perhaps he wouldn't have been the one to cause this untimely demise.

Nick lifted the bottle back to his lips, and let the gin burn down his throat. His tears had dried on the page, and he felt a new resolve as his stomach felt the warm effect of the gin.

He climbed into his bed, ready to dream, ready to remember, and ready to promise himself that no matter how much the time passed, he would always know the truth.


	2. Tea at Daisy's

_(Disclaimer- I do not own any part of the "The Great Gatsby" or any of the characters- that genius belongs to only F. Scott Fitzgerald. Enjoy the first real chapter!) _

Nick had been drawn to the hussle and bussle of New York the way many young brokers were. The litany of activity- from the strip clubs to the debate rooms- from the newspapers thrown onto the streets to the Broadway Shows booming with vocal electricity.

The quaint rented apartment was like a pimple on the face of West Egg. The feeling of opportunity flowing from the homes of the newly rich was almost intoxicating, and for whatever reason, Nick was finding himself in the center of it all.

The house next door was of the grandest and of the greatest he had ever seen; the walls looked hand sculpted by the tips of angel wings; the grass looked hand cut; the flowers across the lawn bloomed in a form of ecstasy Nick couldn't help but wonder if they were poppies.

This of course was all hidden behind the cast iron gate, which kept out the world during the day, and invited it in during the night. The gate, which had swirls and circles all across the iron, seemed to be watching Nick every time he passed by. The mansion had that feeling of distrust; of being watched. It seemed that there was force there not yet to be discovered, and that in itself was interesting to Nick.

He would watch from afar as crowds rushed in to the great Gatsby's parties. A man only known by name and reference- a man hidden in the shadows.

No one had ever seen Gatsby, and Nick knew this. Every now and then he would see the coming and going of various staff persons from the mansion- and once he even called out to a butler to pass along the request to meet the man. Nick simply wanted to be a good neighbor, but at the same time there was something keeping him from walking up and knocking on the door.

It wasn't that Nick was poor- he grew up in money. He just seemed poor at the moment- a young man always has to get his feet on the ground first. There was something deeper than social class that weighed on this tension.

Still, he breathed by the days and stared on in the nights- much like the cast iron gates.

Meanwhile, his books on stocks and Wall Street sat untouched- despite his eagerness to study all summer previously.

It had been about a month since he moved in. Boxes still sat unpacked and chairs weren't quite square to the table. Despite how anal he was, Nick just couldn't feel motivated to "belong" to this home, to live on this land.

He was within, and without New York. And that would be the way he would live for the next six months.

The little phone that he had wired into the wall was ringing for the third time. Nick knew who it was- Tom Buchanan, the husband of his cousin Daisy. He and Tom had met in Yale- and Tom was the athlete many girls died for. The Polo King- the horse riding champion. He was the definition of old money- born into a world fostered in everything extravagant. It was no wonder Daisy had chosen to marry him.

Daisy was considered, by many, a duchess or a queen in her beauty. Some men had even equated her to an angel- her blonde hair was silky and her eyes had a warmth that welcomed you in.

Nick however, had never seen that.

Maybe it was because she was blood, maybe it was because she was kind of whiny, but she just never beckoned him the way she did other men.

He knew he couldn't put off seeing her much longer. Since he had moved in, she had been dying for him to stop by and share some tea. By "share some tea" she really meant gossip- she wanted to know all about the alleged "marriage" he had gotten into back home.

Marriage. Ha. That was not the case at all. His parents simply wanted to preserve the little normalcy of his life that still existed by pairing him up with a beautiful woman- Catherine Delton.

The Delton's were much like the Buchanan's- old money. It would be a step up for Nick to wed into that family, however, neither he nor Catherine seemed to like that idea. The two of them, though close friends, had never seemed romantically inclined toward one another. However, for a short period of time, they pondered the idea.

Life was going to be difficult for people like them. Together, they could put up the façade everyone expected. Perhaps they could even (painfully) create a family. Children were never what either of them wanted, but it was expected. And Nick would never forget that image is everything.

His father had once told him to see the best in people- however; those words themselves were loaded with a history of constant bickering. Constant familial lies, constant parties to uphold status, and constant fights with Nick over the way he walked, talked, and how he crossed his legs.

So Nick had spent years learning to "fix" his behaviors, and perhaps his marriage to Catherine would be the final cherry on top. Until it all crumbled.

Catherine had been off for a few weeks, but it was on one day that she decided to tell her parents there was no way she would ever change. She confirmed their suspicions, and rather than hide it, they wanted her to vanish. It was no longer that factor that mattered; it was all of her being that must be gone from their lives.

And the wedding was off. And Nick was alone.

He sometimes thought that being alone was preferable. Which was why he did not want to answer the phone, which was why he did not want to invite Daisy in. He did not want her poking and prodding, her questions and judgments.

Though, reluctantly, he answered the phone of the fourth call on the fifth ring. Sure enough, Daisy's high-pitched voice on the other end asked once again for his presence at tea. The following afternoon.

With a sigh, Nick agreed, and promised to bring some cookies. He had always liked baking. It took his mind off of other things.

It was noon on the dot when Nick arrived. He was checking his watch nervously as he walked up to the gaudily decorated doors of the Buchanan home. It was laden with silver and gold- a fancy display of wealth for wealth's sake.

Green would have been a better color, but the light cast off from the beacon on the end of the dock added that tone quite nicely.

Green for greed.

Tea made his head hurt. Tom Buchanan had changed physically since Yale- he was burlier. His boots were stretched at the lacing by the thick muscles in his calves- his chest was large and his veins were defined on his neck. His jaw was chiseled- and Nick remembered thinking that he seemed overall larger since the last time he saw him.

This made it painful when Tom clapped Nick on the shoulder and drew him into a tight embrace- the kind of embrace that men at Yale thought nothing of… but men elsewhere would "tsk" at if Nick were a part of the equation. Tom had never seen Nick in the way the rest of the world could.

Daisy had been lounging lazily- as usual- on a white sofa in the sunroom. Her dress was loosely fitting to her slender but still busty figure. She had never bound down her breasts as some other women had found to be a trend.

Jordan Baker, on the other hand, had a very slender frame. That was the first thing Nick noticed when he walked in. This was an almost masculine woman- with a tight chest, prominent jaw, and short, short hair. He was drawn to her figure- it was intriguing and confusing- it defied the norms he had grown up around.

Daisy smiled at Nick the second he entered the room, and began chirping away. But Nick's eyes did not move from Jordan, who smiled back at him with certain intensity.

"Nicki! Answer me. Do they miss me in Chicago?" Daisy's shriller and shriller voice brought Nick back to the present.

"Oh- oh yes. At least a dozen people send their love." He plastered on his fake smile- not too cheery- just masculine enough- with just the right amount of teeth.

The day drug on. The highlights were Jordan finally being formally introduced to Nick- with a firm yet still too sweet handshake. Still, Nick's eyes loomed on her frame- and devoured her small chest. It was so strange- it seemed she hadn't even bound them down! They were just naturally small.

In-between gazing at Jordan and listening to Tom ramble on about the Yale Club, or Daisy complain about the constant phone calls, Nick began to wonder if these individuals surrounding him knew anything about the strange neighbor who threw those parties every weekend. It seemed that just as he had that thought, the phone rang once more.

This time, the butler walked in, and called for Tom. "Mr. Buchanan, they say it is urgent."

Tom sighed and nodded at Nick as a form of apology. He scuffled off into the room.

The presence of this fifth entity weighed heavily on the room, and Jordan tried to break it by suddenly directing the conversation at the state of Nick's home.

"How much is your property?" "What? That is so small! Who does the gardening?" "Ohhh, you do? How interesting! Do you feel tiny compared to the estates?" "Aw, you don't know any of your neighbors?"

Nick couldn't find a way to successfully take the attention off of himself, but suddenly, a new topic popped up.

"Well, surely you must have heard of Gatsby, how could you not have? He throws those huge parties every weekend- I've been to one or two." Jordan's lips left an intensity in the air that she did not expect- Nick felt glued in place for some reason.

It was broken by Daisy's words: "Gatsby? What Gatsby?"

The doors flung open from the other room, and Tom walked back in. He looked across the dismal room and wasn't quite sure what to do, so he plundered on in highly lit conversation about the Yale Club and apologizing for his colleagues constantly calling him.

Jordan and Daisy looked upon each other for a moment, as though a common thought had been suddenly interrupted. Nick simply observed, until the conversation was once again pointed back to him.

"Well, you've been to one of his parties, have you not?" Jordan swayed a wine glass in her hand and looked at him borderline seductively.

Nick hated looks like that from women- as though their sexuality should have some kind of hold over him he did not have himself. But he smiled back, the right kind of smile for the situation, and answered, "no, I have not, but I hear them. You bet, I hear them, every single Saturday night."

Daisy had a look of wonder fixed on her face; her eyes were bulging slightly as though she was not able to control her emotions. Tom shifted in his seat, and jumped up to answer the phone when once again, it appeared someone was calling and it was urgent.

This sent Daisy out of her fixated stared onwards, and brought her to the present. She rose and stormed quickly into the other room, breathing so loudly Nick wanted to breathe in beat with her.

"Did you receive an invitation, or did you simp-" Nick's attempt at buttered conversation was cut short by a "shhh" of Jordan's lips. "I want to hear." She whispered.

Nick careened his head closer to the door Daisy had just shut, and he could hear her shrill voice raging.

"Everyone around here knows that Tom has a woman in New York." Jordan seemed pleased with supplying this information to Nick, as though she was providing him food or money. Nick kind of gawked at her, not sure how to respond. For Christ's sake, this was his cousin! How could he take this news?

Before his mind had time to contemplate the situation, he was brought back to the present by Daisy rushing into the room, over to his chair, taking his hands quickly into hers, and pulling him upward while gasping "it is far to hot Nicki, let's go outside!"

And with that, they went outside.

Evening in the Buchanan household was nothing short of beautiful- the way the plants were lit had a certain stunning effect on the eye that it made you believe you were truly in the place of angels. Or at least, that is what Nick was sure other people thought. He would much rather be at his quaint little home by now, pondering the secrets of the man next door.

Nick left the Buchanan mansion with little further information, and no real feeling. The only thing he left with was a reluctant promise to Tom to travel with him to the Yale club the following afternoon. Two days spent with Tom was two days spent self-loathing, as the man was everything Nick wanted to be. Strong, confident, well liked and loved, but alas, Nick could do nothing but watch.

He would always remain within and without.


	3. The Yale Club

_(Disclaimer- I do not own any part of the "The Great Gatsby" or any of the characters- that genius belongs to only F. Scott Fitzgerald. Thank you so much for the favorites and follows, I will try to update this at least once every couple of weeks. I didn't want to go too in depth as far as the scene between Nick and Chester- I wanted to show how hollow Nick was throughout it. Please, let me know what you think, and thanks for reading!) _

The first thing Nick learned about Tom Buchanan that day was that he was a liar. There was no Yale Club meeting.

Tom stopped in the Valley of Ashes.

The Valley had a certain level of despair- perhaps it was the grime that coated everything that came into its air space. The people working had grimaces plastered on their soot covered faces. Their hands moved numbly to do the physical labor forced upon them, and the ground below them seemed to whine at the persistence of their weight.

It was all watched by the ever-looming eyes of Dr. T.J. Eckleberg- a forgotten illusionist who once had paid to have a sign put up in the area. It had since decayed, and now merely the eyes stood out in clarity. They were as prevalent as the eyes of God.

Tom pulled into the parking lot of a gas station, and let some poorly paid worker fill up his tank. He launched out of the seat and beckoned for Nick to follow, which he did reluctantly, into the building of the car shop.

The garage and car shop was owned by none other than a too thin and too poor George Wilson. The man seemed to be starvation walking- there was something about him that just screamed, "unsatisfied."

His wife however, who rounded the staircase as Tom made idle chatter with Wilson, was voluptuous. She had curves, and her breasts were forced into the eyes of all around her. It made Nick slightly uncomfortable.

Why were they here? It made no sense to Nick. This wasn't the Yale Club.

"Wilson, would you mind checking out the breaks on my girl out there? She's been a tad squirrely lately." Tom tossed some bills into Wilson's hands, and he looked up at Tom with a dumbfounded smile. Wilson, checking breaks? Yeah right. Tom just wanted some alone time with the woman who was ever so patiently waiting.

"Myrtle." Tom looked up at her as Wilson was walking away. His eyes were filled with a sense of longing, and watching this transaction- whatever it was- transpire made Nick feel like an intruder. He looked down at his shoes as this woman- Myrtle- walked towards Tom.

She swayed her hips way too much.

Her body danced around his in a form of teasing, and he whispered things to her in an eager tone. Nick tried not to hear, but he knew this would not be the end of the encounter.

Tom once again was pushing bills into someone's hands. "Take the next train into town. Take what's left and get a little something for yourself."

Myrtle's eyes showed something uncertain, and something exciting, but Nick just felt like some awkward passerby in the most awkward of exchanges.

"Wilson- I'm going out to town!" Myrtle shoved the money into her purse, swung herself around the pole stationed in the room to keep the ceiling up, and bolted out without looking back at Nick or Tom. Nick stood in half amazement, half amusement.

It became very clear that they were going to anything but the Yale club. Tom stopped and pulled the car down an alley street, and the first thing Nick thought was that it was much filthier than the streets he had to use for the time he came to the city for work.

"You know Nick, Myrtle's sister, Katherine- we are calling her over- I think you two would play quite nicely." Tom smiled at Nick; in the way men often smile at each other when they share bedroom secrets. Nick began to feel queasy- an anticipation that was making his abdomen constrict and flop.

This was an unlucky situation, indeed. If Katherine was anything like Myrtle, Nick was afraid he would have literally no idea what to do with her.

When they arrived at the dainty and yet somehow also gaudy apartment, Myrtle and Tom waltzed into the bedroom. Nick sat awkwardly while the two let out moans and pounding noises from the other room- that is, until Katherine walked in.

Or stormed, rather.

The door flung open, and Katherine bounded in. "Hey, I'm Katherine. Ain't we having a party?" She was not quite as voluptuous as the red clad Myrtle, but still a certain sexual prowess loomed in her eyes that made Nick shiver.

"Oh Chester- isn't this the cutest little apartment?" Another woman bounded in, with an effeminate man in tow. Nick straightened his posture slightly as he backed into a corner… and suddenly the door to the bedroom where Tom and Myrtle had previously been occupied flew open, and a slightly sweaty and disheveled top bolted out as Myrtle ran to hug Katherine in the mist of girly squealing.

Tom let out this full-bellied laugh and patted Nick on the back, shaking his frame. "Aren't these ladies something?" He asked. Nick's eyes scanned the room for a spot of escape. This situation was quickly escalating into something he was most certainly not prepared for. Here he thought he was just going to enjoy lunch at the Yale Club!

"I think, I really best be going now…" Nick mumbled and looked at his feet. The background noise of the other parties chatting made him sway slightly. He began to feel lightheaded and nauseous.

"Oh come on Nick, don't you want to talk to Katherine? Don't embarrass her." Tom leaned in closer to Nick, and whispered. "I know all the stories about you from school… I know you like to watch more than you like to play"-Nick couldn't meet Tom's eyes as he was afraid he was about to be accused of some horrible deed-"but aren't you tired of watching Nick?" Tom glared down at him. There was suddenly certain anger, as though Nick needed to live up to this expectation to be appreciated by this group.

"I don't know Tom…. Daisy is my cousin and I just feel a little" Nick was cut off by another slap to the shoulder.

"Nick, do you want to sit back and watch…" Tom's head bucked towards the three women in the room, ignoring Chester who stood in the opposite corner with a camera in his hands, "or play ball?" Tom laughed heartily once again, and Myrtle walked closer to the two swaying her hips.

"Oh come on Nick, play ball!" Her high pitched whine was too much for Nick to take…When in Rome, do as the Romans do, right? Nick supposed he had no choice.

"Aren't I good enough for ya? Come on!" Katherine walked over, and kind of pushed Nick into a chair. "Come on, and stay a while." She sat down next to him, and soon the whole party was seated in a semi circle as Tom began rifling around for liquors.

"This is Chester." Myrtle's introduction felt sort of short lived… and quickly Katherine mentioned, "He's a photographer- a real artist!" Chester looked down at his camera. He was clearly as uncomfortable as Nick.

"Nick's an artist too!" Tom bellowed, turned away from the group.

"Oh really? How…artsy!" Katherine giggled, and Nick felt his stomach clench. "Do you live on Long Island too?"

Nick smiled, a very forced smile, and grunted out "oh, I actually live in West Egg- just in a little old shack there, nothing too fancy."

Katherine leaned in and placed her hand on Nick's leg. Nick wanted to invert upon himself and escape the situation, but her hand glued him to the chair. "Oh- I was there at a party not too long ago… thrown by a man named Gatsby. Do you know him?" Her stare was intense, and Nick couldn't bring himself to play with her eye contact.

"I live right next store to him…." Nick's thoughts pondered about the mysterious neighbor for longer than his words flowed, and soon he was thrust back into reality where Katherine was talking a mile a second.

"I heard he was the son of the great German terrorist, or the imperial king of Singapore." She acted as though this information could possibly be correct, and being the educated man that he was, Nick simply stared at her because he wasn't sure how to respond to such a statement of stupidity. Imperial king of Singapore? What did that even mean?

All of these rumors about Gatsby circulated throughout all of New York, and Nick was trying his best to follow his father's words. "Always see the best in people." Nick hated to judge others, and he would not judge Mr. Gatsby until he had come face to face with the man himself.

Suddenly, Tom broke the awkward silence by grabbing Myrtle's rump, and exclaiming "Chester, take a picture of that!"

Chester, startled by the sudden inclusion, stared at the two, and then fumbled with his camera awkwardly as Myrtle giggled and squealed. In her arms was the yappy dog she had clearly bought that morning, which barked as Tom spanked her once again.

Nick never understood this treatment of women. Were they not people too? But he didn't say anything.

While he was staring around, Katherine climbed onto his lap. Nick sunk back into the chair as her wait pressed down onto his abdomen and thighs. "You know, I've heard that Myrtle hates her husband."

Nick looked at her, unsure of what to say, and mumbled, "You mean she doesn't like Wilson?"

Myrtle giggled from across the room and exclaimed, "He is a scumbag!" In a flash Tom was pushing drinks into Nick's hands, and Katherine waved hers away. "No thanks, I feel just as good on nothing at all!" Nick looked around, once again for escape, but instead clanked his glass against Tom's.

The yellow liquid was not something Nick was used to. He had only been drunk once before in his life, and the second time was that afternoon.

Katherine popped a pill and kissed Nick, forcing the pill into his mouth. He soon felt his heart rate accelerate.

The scene degenerated into a drunken dancing mess. No music played but that of the street performers from outside. The music seemed to create a symphony and Nick soon found himself pressed up against Katherine in an erotic gyration of movements and kisses. Tom groped Myrtle as the two-passed whiskey from mouth to mouth.

Chester drenched himself in alcohol, and was taking pictures while spinning in circles.

The women soon began stripping their clothes, and even dancing on each other. Day turned to night, and a sort of chemical madness burst thunderously upon all in the small apartment.

Nick thought to himself that maybe he could like New York. He burst open more bottles, downed his worries in a toxic madness. He gazed out of the window once he was separated from the women around him. He thought that this yellow window much share in the collage of hidden secrets, which could be observed from men walking by on the streets.

At the same time, Nick was that passerby. Within and without. Enchanted, and repelled. He looked amongst the other windows, dazzling with their secrets, and knew that in that moment he had been taken by the city.

When he turned back from the window, the buzz of alcohol made him woozy. He stumbled slightly, and unaware of what was happening, felt an arm wrench him up.

Chester, who had also become inebriated, helped Nick to his feet, and tried to steady him. Chester had lost his first layer of clothing, and was dressed in only an undershirt and a pair of boxers. Nick looked back at Katherine, who had started kissing Myrtle, as Tom watched in utter ecstasy.

Nick had spent so much time in his life hiding, but the buzz between his ears seem to tell him to follow Chester as he led him out of the apartment and into the hallway.

Nick gazed upon the man's frame. Chester was dainty, and not the most attractive of men. He had an awkwardly styled mustache that made his face appear square like, but Nick was finally taking this man in completely.

Beneath the clothes were the outlines of a lithe frame and body, gawky but also toned somehow. The alcohol was taking its affect on Nick's body, and his thoughts turned to mushy trails. Chester didn't quite tell Nick where they were going, he just continued on.

"I had a feeling about you." Chester whispered into Nick's ear once they were in the elevator of the apartment complex. His hands found their way to Nick's thighs, rubbing slightly and leaving a burning sensation on Nick's skin. The booze was making Nick feel like every touch was scorching, and his mind began to swim in erotic fantasies he tried so hard to keep at bay.

Chester's face neared his, and before Nick even knew what was happened, a set of lips and a tongue were forced into his mouth. His eyes rammed shut, and he let out a loud sigh as Chester pushed him up against the wall of the elevator. Nick didn't want to take control. He wanted to let someone else work him over, take away his thoughts.

Make him feel within, without being without.

"Hey, don't do that!" An older woman was in the elevator. The two men hadn't even noticed her. Chester's hands were grazing Nick's crotch, and as the elevator hit the last floor, the woman breathed out an obscenity before running out.

Nick didn't seem to mind.

Chester's apartment was about a block away. The two men stumbled there way down the street, trying not too walk to close. However, perhaps it was their appearance, or Chester's feminity, the calls on the streets echoed behind them. Nick forced them out.

He had only had sex twice before, both times with men. He could never find himself riled up over a woman, no matter how hard he tried. And while Chester was a stranger, Nick found himself wanted to dip into the channel of wildness he so often forbade himself from.

Nick wasn't even aware of where he was. The bills and the liquids churning inside of him made him feel like he didn't know which way was up, and before he knew it he was being pushed through a door into a dark room, and soon onto a bed.

The other man loomed over top of him. The two did not speak. This was no exchange of romance, rather an exchange of lust and carnal desire.

Clothes were ripped off, and soon another mouth was pressed against Nicks. His body seemed to move on its own to find the warmth of the one above him, and he drank in all of the sweat, musty scent, and presence of being with this other man.

The next thing Nick remembered was waking up in the morning, in only a pair of boxers, with Chester sitting on the edge of the bed. The room was sparsely decorated, and smelled of paint. As well as sweat and other scents, which Nick only thought could have been produced during the activities of last night.

He rolled over, trying to free himself from the set of scratchy sheets, which were wrapped around his legs. Chester looked at him, and didn't smile or say a word. He handed Nick the morning newspaper, in silence.

While last night left Nick with momentary satisfaction, he didn't remember another moment where he had ever felt so lonely in his life. He looked around for his clothes, not seeing them anywhere. Still, no words were spoken, Chester simply handed Nick a pair trousers, and then left.

Nick sat on the bed, feeling only the without, no longer the within, as he pulled on the pants, and began to figure out how he was to get home. The massive hangover didn't help, but somehow he found himself on his way back to West Egg.

As he arrived home, via the taxi he somehow managed to begrudgingly pull over, he had the unsettling feeling that Gatsby watching. The man no one knew, the one who threw all the parties, the one who seemed to know the secrets no one dared speak of.

Nick felt dirty and disgusting, and the idea of this mystery man's eyes on him made him shiver. Would Gatsby know his secrets? Could he look at a man and see past his face and into his soul? What did Gatsby know?

Nick knew nothing of Gatsby, but in that moment, he was sure, the man was paying some level of attention to his neighbor who lived in the little shack. Nick's shame hung on his shoulders, the one night stand seemed to stain his ego, and in that moment he thought not of Tom, or how he got home, or Myrtle, or Katherine, or even the sweaty and heated night he spent with Chester. Nick thought of the man behind the curtains, the man who he imagined looked out his window, and like Nick, somehow, remained within and without.


	4. Mr Gatsby

_(Disclaimer- I do not own any part of "The Great Gatsby"- all of that amazing writing belongs to F. Scott Fitzgerald. In the next chapter or so, you will see more diverging from the actual book and movie. Don't worry, it will get gay! Very gay! And soon. Thank you for reading!) _

Nick's thought that Gatsby was watching him became reality when he received an initiation to Gatsby's.

No one received an invitation- all of New York just piled into automobiles and headed over to the grand estate every weekend, all weekend for the lavish parties. The estate was truly exquisite- the finest of décor, fountains and statues, a pool in the center of an entertainment hall- and of course the signature golden organ whose pipes wound throughout the entire building.

It seemed this music machine was the center of the home, if you could call it that.

Nick walked throughout the busied hallways-it was as bad as waiting in the crowds during the morning commute at a subway. The people around him were from all walks of life- businessmen, media stars, Wall Street brokers, Nick's own boss! Losing money at the roulette table! Gangsters and politicians, heiresses, models, actresses, Playboy publishers…. It seemed everyone came to join this mismatch group of people.

Nick walked up to every waiter, every person who would talk to him- asking if they had seen the infamous, or famous, Gatsby. And no one had any idea- no one else had ever received a personal invitation! Feeling embarrassed, and slightly out of sorts, Nick decided to once again get roaring drunk.

He danced with beautiful women, not eyeing their bodies, but rather enjoying their energy. The men around him seemed to not pay him any attention, and Nick felt well hidden in the mass of people. Dancers and musicians, liquors and booze- the crowd took the dance floor with a level of excitement Nick longed to drink in.

It was then that he saw Jordan- and Nick felt comforted to see a familiar face. He ran to her, and held up his invitation, slightly waving it her face. "I thought I might see you here!" She leaned into him, and he smelled the sweat and booze from her skin.

"Why yes, I received the invitation!" Nick still waved the golden parchment in front of her, and she laughed. "Why, no one receives an invitation!" Nick smiled. Did that make him special? To be the only one?

"Well I live just next door… I want to find Mr. Gatsby!" Nick gulped down the rest of the drink in his hand as Jordan laughed at him.

"No one knows Mr. Gatsby! But instead of sitting around here pondering him, let us go find the man! Come on!" She dragged his hand and led him through the crowd.

"Who is he?" Nick looked around, and a random man decided to chime in. "Mr. Gatsby? He's a German spy!"

"Teddy Varnun, Nick Carraway." Jordan muttered the introduction with haste. It appeared she was with this other man.

Another stranger chimed in, "No no no, he's Kieser's assassin!" A woman exclaimed "a heard he killed a man once!"

Nick's head swam in the variety of rumors, trying to process which might be true and which might be false. What was interesting was that none of the people appeared to actually know Gatsby on a personal level. Where was this information coming from?

"He kills for fun, free of charge!" "He's certainly richer than god!"

Nick leaned into Jordan, "You don't really believe he killed a man do you?" he whispered, not wanting to entice the opinion of more strangers. "Well, let's go find him!" Jordan led them through the crowd, up spiral staircases, and into an abandoned library. Abandoned, that is, with the exception of an old man with rounded Owl Eyes.

"Mr. Gatsby?" Nick called in a drunken voice. Owl Eyes approached the two.

"You won't find Mr. Gatsby here. This house, these things, these parties- they are all part of an elaborate disguise! Mr. Gatsby does not exist." Owl Eyes had a glass in hand; the alcohol consumption slurred his words.

"Well, that's not true!" Jordan swayed around the men. "I've met him!"

"Which one? The hero? The prince? The murderer?" Owl Eyes stepped closer to Nick, making him feel antsy.

"Well, I don't care! He gives large parties, and I like large parties." Jordan led the others to the window in the library, which gazed out onto the fountains and pools of the estate.

"If that's true, then what is this all for? There has to be a reason!" Nick looked down at his empty glass. All of this thinking and mystery made him want more booze. It was easier to join the crowd than it was to ponder these secrets lurking within the estate.

"That, my friend, is the question." Owl Eyes looked out the window, and then returned to his books, leaving Jordan and Nick in their own thoughts.

"Come on!" Once again, Jordan grabbed Nick and they bolted from the library back into the pulsing areas cluttered with the partygoers.

Nick danced with Jordan on top of the fountain, and streamers and confetti dazzled the air as Jordan was stolen from Nick by her actual date. As Nick followed the two, an elaborate fireworks show was beginning.

"Nick, come on!" Jordan shouted, as she was tugged up a staircase. Halfway up the stairs, a waiter with a drink on his platter asked Nick a question. "Oh hello there old sport! Were you by any chance a soldier in the war?" Nick didn't look at the stranger square in the face, he kept on chasing after Jordan. He didn't want to be left alone again. While Jordan was intense, she was familiar.

"Oh yes, I was in the 9th battalion!" Nick kept moving, as the waiter moved with him. "Oh I was in the 7th. I knew you looked familiar, old sport! Are you having a good time tonight?"

Nick finally turned the face the waiter, but his eyes drifted around lazily as more people moved past them. "Oh yes, I am. It's so funny- he sent me an invitation, and it appears I'm the only one! I live right next store, but I've never actually seen this Mr. Gatsby."

The two men shoved through the flow of people heading down and up the stairs, and Nick showed him the invitation. "Some people say he's third cousin to the Kieser and second cousin to the devil!" The waiter turned to another water, and grabbed two drinks from the platter, holding one out to Nick with his back slightly turned away.

"Well, I'm afraid I haven't been a great host then, old sport." The waiter turned to face Nick completely, and Nick finally got a full shot of the man.

His jaw began to drop and he figured out what he was looking at- or rather, who.

"You see, I'm Gatsby."

The fireworks illuminated the sky as Nick stared at Gatsby for the first time. The mysterious man behind the curtain, revealing himself and opening up to Nick a new world of possibilities.

He had the kind of smile that all people wanted to be smiled at with- a certain hope flowed from his eyes. His irises were a bright blue, which made Nick think about the sky on warm summer days with its clarity and sharpness.

"Oh…. You're…" Nick was taken back from the smile that made him feel understood and believed in. "I'm so sorry sir, forgive me. I've had so much to drink."

"Oh, it's fine! Mr. Carraway!" A butler approached Gatsby, and whispered something to him. Gatsby began walking up the steps, with Nick following behind in a kind of trance.

"You know old sport, I'm planning to take out my hydroplane tomorrow morning. Would you like to come along?" Gatsby marched on, and Nick wasn't quite sure how to take this request. He didn't have that many exchanges with other people, not of the friendly or business kind on such short notice, that was for sure.

"Of course! What time would best suit you?" Nick stumbled slightly up the stairs, and the two neared Jordan.

"Why, the time that best suits you, old sport!" Gatsby turned to see Jordan. "That's kind of you.." Nick watched as Gatsby took Jordan's hand, and brought it to his lips.

"It is certainly nice to see you again, Ms. Baker." He smiled at her, and once again Nick found himself staring at that smile.

Gatsby reached out and touched Nick lightly on the shoulder, and Nick nearly stepped backward, but Gatsby squeezed slightly.

"If there is anything that you'd like, just ask for it old sport." He smiled that smile, and Nick wasn't sure what to do. His mouth wasn't moving very fast, and his thoughts were in circular roundabouts of the mystery of the man before him.

"Excuse me, I will join you later." Gatsby smiled, and looked at Nick for a moment, before walking away from them.

"I expected him to be….." Jordan interrupted Nick's sentence- "old and fat?"

"Well yes, rich young men just don't appear from no where!" Nick laughed as he brought another drink to his lips.

"He told me once he was an Oxford man…. However I don't believe him." Jordan looked out towards the water from the view of the balcony they had found themselves standing upon.

"Why not?" Nick questioned. "I just don't believe he went there." Right after Jordan spoke; the same butler who had summoned Gatsby earlier appeared by her side. "I beg your pardon, Ms. Baker, but Mr. Gatsby would like to see you." She looked at Nick, eyes full of expectation, and followed the butler up another spiral staircase (the spiral staircases appeared to be never ending) to where a man was standing with his back to the party. A man, who was now undoubtly Gatsby.

Nick watched Jordan walk away, his mind adrift. Where she and Gatsby somehow involved? How did he know her? Why her? And why introduce himself to Nick when it appeared that no one else knew who he was?

Nick also couldn't forget that smile. It was like gold- no wonder Gatsby had made such a fortune so young. That smile alone made you want to trust him, and trust can be a powerful thing.

The magic of the night seemed to wear itself out as Nick found himself wandering slightly less populated crowds. The party was winding down, and staff of Mr. Gatsby cleaned up drinks, collected glasses, and stashed decorations. Drunken individuals lay amongst the floors and furniture.

Nick stood- he had been half sleeping on a couch- and walked toward the exit. Suddenly, someone grabbed his arm. "Nick! Nick!" Jordan's voice pierced the heavy veil in Nick's brain. "I just heard the most shocking thing! It all makes sense!"

The man she had come with began tugging her out of the estate and towards the now leaving cycle of cars, grumbling as he went.

"What all makes sense? What are you talking about?" Nick looked confused, and she shook her head. "Everything! It just all makes sense… Oh I'm sorry, but I can't tell you anymore!"

"What why?" Nick followed her as she was pulled away. "I promised not to tell! I swore I wouldn't tell."

Jordan was put into a car, and drove away, leaving Nick on the steps of the Gatsby mansion.

Suddenly, the man appeared. "Sorry to keep her from you, old sport." Unlike the others around him, Gatsby still appeared clean, even at such a late hour of night. Nick felt soiled and sweaty, and slightly embarrassed by his drunkenness once again. But that smile gave him reassurance.

"Don't forget, we are going up in that hydroplane tomorrow morning." A butler came to Gatsby's side, and whispered in his ear once again. For a moment, just for a moment, Gatsby's face fell, but then the radiant smile was back. "Good night old sport."

"Thank you!" Nick exclaimed, feeling slightly out of control and still embarrassed. He stared at the ground, and began walking away, back towards his little shack.

He felt the eyes of Gatsby linger on him, but when he turned back Gatsby had disappeared. Suddenly, Nick heard Jordan calling his name from a car that was circling the property. "Nick! Nick! Come and see me! We will have tea next week! I'm in the phone book!"

"I'll call you up!" Nick waved to Jordan, and then walked to his property. He stared up at the windows the large Gatsby mansion, and this time, could see the man with striking clarity through a lit and unshaded window. Gatsby was on the phone, but suddenly looked down to Nick. Nick felt the eye contact, even from such a distance, and shivered. The man's eyes were piercing, and mysterious. He waved, and his smile still seemed to radiant a level of acceptance Nick had never felt before in his entire life. Nick smiled, and waved back, and even as he turned, he felt the heavy eyes of Gatsby still on his back.


End file.
